Skin Deep
By eleventh grade I had blossomed – well, enough that my father’s influence could land me as a contestant for the Miss Titaka Falls pageant. I was pretty enough, and popular enough, but I just didn’t quite have the suave sophistication I felt was needed to win the race. What worried me most was the talent portion of the contest; I couldn’t sing, dance, or twirl a baton. But I could act, sort of, and my mother assured me that my superb acting ability (she always had way too much faith in me) would amaze the judges and procure me the crown. I was not so sure.
Before the pageant began, we were forced to endure the drudgery of deportment lessons. What made it bearable was the opportunity for us girls to giggle and bond, which both pleased and displeased Miss Moore, who was in charge of turning seven teenage girls into proper young ladies in one short week. The first lesson was that we were never to be late for, or absent from, any pageant function, for to do so would require us to withdraw from the contest. Her bark proved worse than her bite, though, for tall, blonde, and beautiful Nancy Nelson was late for almost every function, even missing one altogether.
Nancy Nelson provided constant conversation for the rest of us, for she repeatedly failed to adhere to the rules of decorum set by Miss Moore. She never crossed her legs correctly, her bra strap was forever hanging down her arm, and several times she even sniffed her armpits in public. One of the funniest instances (although appalling by Miss Moore’s standards) was when, after a tour of the local mill with members of the Town Council, we each had to take turns giving a speech about local industry. It was hot that day, and the room we were in had the air conditioning turned up full blast.
As instructed by Miss Moore, six of us took our turns behind the podium to deliver our talks, with moderate success. Even as the last contestant to speak, however, Nancy failed to heed the matronly advice of our mentor, and instead chose to stand in front of the podium, which just happened to put her directly in the center of a cold air vent. Besides the fact that the cold air made Nancy’s nipples practically poke through the thin fabric of her blouse, the force of the fan caused her skirt to blow up and billow about her, exposing much too much leg for Miss Moore’s conservative taste. The whole scene would have almost had a Marilyn Monroe effect, were it not for the very large, very visible, Spiderman bandage on Nancy’s bony left knee. Through her speech, the rest of us girls just looked at each other in stunned silence, each of us torn between feeling sorry for her predicament, and secretly hoping that this would mean the end of Nancy Nelson.
This was not to be, however, for the next function was the bake-off, and Nancy was there, orange chiffon cake in hand. Although we had been given explicit instructions by Miss Moore that there was to be no cheating – all baking and decorating had to be performed by our own hands, with no help from our mothers – it was obvious that Nancy’s cake was not altogether her singular accomplishment. I suppose that in the end it didn’t matter that we all knew that Nancy was a first class clutz, and couldn’t possibly have designed such intricate decorations (such as blossoms from orange peels, shaved coconut and mint leaves), because she managed to fool the judges anyway. My own devil's food cake had fallen in the middle, so I had compensated by filling the crevice with icing and slathering the top and sides with chocolate sprinkles. All the girls said my cake tasted the best, but Nancy’s creation won her the title of Miss Bake-Off.
We convinced ourselves that the judges picked her cake because they felt sorry for her – that they didn’t want her to come away from the pageant empty handed. Because she was so pretty, we felt sorry for her too, in a way. The prettiest girls are supposed to win beauty pageants, but Nancy just wasn’t measuring up to the beauty queen image that Miss Moore had defined for us. She was unorganized and bumbling, she wore no make-up, bit her nails, and even snapped her gum. But there was something about her that even Miss Moore must have found irresistible, for she tended to turn a blind eye whenever Nancy messed up, which was often.
The night of the talent show was the event I dreaded the most. I still wasn’t at all sure that my one woman act was appropriate for a beauty pageant. I had chosen wisely, though, for I decided to stick with an act I knew well – a comedy routine where I played Lily Tomlin’s Edith Ann. Skipping down the aisle, past my family, strangers, and the ever ominous judges, my stomach almost gave up on me, but I somehow made it to the stage, and opened my mouth to speak. Clad in a pink pinafore, with pink bows adorning my pig-tails, the Edith Ann routine flowed like it had never flowed before. As soon as I heard the first chuckle I knew I had them, and I gave it everything I had. When I spied my father, doubled over, tears of laughter streaming from his eyes, it was the proudest moment in my life. But it was not enough, because Nancy’s turn came after mine.
Although an accompaniment was not supposed to be allowed, Nancy professed that she had forgotten, and thus her boyfriend, John, was allowed to play the guitar while she sang. No pantyhose, no make-up, and no microphone, Nancy belted out "Angel of the Morning" as though her life’s purpose was to sing that particular song. As soon as she opened her mouth I knew I was doomed; who could beat a songbird.
The last event, of course, was the Crowning Ball. Positive that she could design me a much more elegant dress than we could buy in a store, my mother declared that she would sew my ball gown herself. It turned out to be a pretty dress, although my mother had hemmed it too short (I wanted it to cover my feet, like a real gown) and it never fit quite right. The off-the-shoulder style kept sliding up whenever I lifted my arms, the puffy bodice made my slightly chunky body look positively frumpy, and the band of ribbon around my waist scrunched together whenever I sat down. Although my parents declared me the most exquisite creature they had ever seen, I knew there would be one creature more exquisite than I that night, and she would probably be wearing a store bought dress.
The crowning of Miss Titaka Falls was to take place after dinner, which, of course, gave me ample opportunity to spill coke on my white dress. As per usual, Nancy arrived unfashionably late, in a plain, but elegant, baby-blue knee length dress, and was escorted by her jean-clad boyfriend, John. Although we were supposed to have been escorted by our sponsors, Miss Moore managed to overlook Nancy’s one last faux pas, and led her to her seat, which just happened to be the closest one to the judges table.
There was one last speech we were expected to make, this time an impromptu one, derived from a question we were to pick from a hat. I don’t remember my question; I especially don’t remember my answer. All I remember was trying to keep my arms down, so my dress would stay in place, and to conceal the sweat that was pouring down my arms. Nancy’s question read something like: "If you were a politician, what would be your main agenda?" If I didn’t already know that she would win the crown, I knew at that moment, for not even Nancy could give a wrong answer to such a question. Feeding the poor, world peace, a better world for our children – she gave all the answers the judges wanted to hear – all answers that I was sure I would have given, had I been given the chance.
That night, as expected, Nancy became Miss Titaka Falls 1981. And another girl, Cindy, who deserved it more than any of us, for she was consistently elegant, won the title of First Princess. Although I was told by many (especially my family and friends) that I should have won, it was little consolation. After a short mourning period, the non-winners got together for a little reunion and came to the conclusion that Nancy’s win was based solely on her outward appearance, and that we should take pity on her shallow soul.
Now, years later, reflecting on the experience, I believe I should probably regret playing a part in the whole beauty pageant game, but I don’t. I made some great new friends, I made my mother happy, and most of all, I learned to never again envy the Nancy Nelsons of the world. That, alone, makes me feel victorious.